


Keep the Window Cracked

by todisturbtheuniverse



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Comfort, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:28:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1330195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todisturbtheuniverse/pseuds/todisturbtheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompted by commandercousland on Tumblr: Sebastian and Bethany, maybe a kind of alternate meeting during Act One?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep the Window Cracked

**Author's Note:**

> I have a sort-of headcanon that Bethany is…relatively religious Andraste-wise. She probably never went to the Chantry much, growing up, due to that whole pesky templar thing—but from the beginning, I’ve imagined that she believes. I’m not sure why; I don’t think there’s any canon evidence to testify whether or not she’s an Andrastian. But, anyway, this ficlet sprang out of that.

Someone had cracked a window on the upper level of the Chantry.

Bethany sank down in the little side alley, right beneath that window. It put her in the shadow of the tall stone wall running along the Chantry’s perimeter, but if she stretched out her legs, her feet just barely caught some of the rising sun. She leaned back against the ivy-covered stone behind her, taking care not to crush it. It would be a shame if someone discovered her hideaway back here and planted less welcoming greenery to discourage her weekly ritual.

The Mother’s voice was quiet, but if she strained, she could hear every word clearly. Smiling a little, she shifted her staff so it settled more comfortably across her knees. She knew this one, she thought. The Mother was pulling bits and pieces from a popular sermon on integrity, originally written by Divine Renata I.

Her feelings about integrity were decidedly mixed after a year in Kirkwall, but she didn’t mind the lesson. There was a cold sort of comfort in the hard and fast rules about faith.

Marian always rose and left before dawn on this day of the week, removing herself silently from their Lowtown shack before Bethany could wake and follow. She thought that Marian knew where she went on these mornings—and probably didn’t approve, but didn’t want to fight about it, either.

The Mother shuffled her papers; the sound barely carried to where Bethany sat, well outside the warmth of the Chantry’s colorful light and yawning bodies. The congregation took up a few lines of the Chant.

"Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter," Bethany murmured along. "Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."

Beside her, someone cleared his throat. “Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker’s will is written.”

Bethany’s eyes flew open at the first syllable; she scrambled to her feet and had her staff gripped tightly in hand before he finished the verse. She skipped a few steps back for good measure, heart pounding, knees protesting at the sudden movement.

The man held up a placating hand. “I’m not here to run you off,” he told her. “I thought you might like company. You looked lonely.”

Bethany hesitated, clinging to her staff. He looked harmless enough—harmless enough for a man dressed in shiny white armor and carrying a bow, anyway. His face was an open book; he looked on her threadbare tunic with a sad twist at the corners of his mouth, but there was no pity in his startlingly blue eyes.

Slowly, she let her attack stance relax, but kept a firm grip on her staff all the same.

"My name is Sebastian Vael," he said, patting the spot beside him that she’d vacated. "I am… _was_ a brother of the Chantry.”

She sighed, not moving to sit down again. Just her luck. Marian had gone alone to collect the reward for that job. It was a risk, taking anything from the Chanter’s Board, but they’d eaten nothing but days-old bread that week, hard and stale.  _Better to risk drawing the Grand Cleric’s eye than to starve_ , Marian had said,  _and we’ll be careful._

"You look familiar," he prompted when she didn’t answer. "Have we met before? Forgive me if I’ve forgotten—"

"Bethany," she interrupted, steeling herself. "Bethany Hawke. No, we haven’t, but you know my sister."

He inclined his head. “Of course.” His voice had darkened considerably; she held her breath, poised now on the verge of fleeing. “She did me a great service. I suspect you must have been involved, as well.”

The seconds passed. Furtively, Bethany glanced toward the mouth of the alley. If she ran, would he strike her down?

"Forgive me for interrupting your contemplation." She looked back; he smiled again, the expression worn but sincere. "Won’t you sit? I can leave, if you wish."

She eyed him, worrying her lip with her teeth. Had he guessed yet? Had he matched the name and the staff to the rumors? Did a former brother of the Chantry have the moral obligation to march her to the Gallows the moment she let her guard down?

He offered a hand, palm-up, as though to help her sit. “The Maker understands,” he said quietly. “This is not a time for accusation.”

She reached out a tentative hand and sat, letting him take some of the weight off her complaining muscles as she sank slowly back to the stone. She kept a few inches of space between them, her staff held firmly across her knees. His quiver, she noticed, was empty.

They sat out the hour together. Only half of Bethany’s mind was on the Chant. The other half kept an iron grip on the magic in her veins, braced for sudden movement beside her, prepared to attack, ready to run.

The moment that the sermon ended she rose, brushed herself off, and turned to go.

"The weather is warmer every day," his voice told her back. She paused, listening. "I’ll keep the window cracked next week."

Something in her chest tightened; her eyes pricked with unexpected tears. “Thank you,” she whispered, and before she could give herself away, she fled.


End file.
